


Poise and Poison

by GeneralLoki



Series: Strobing [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Language, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Vague Continuity, as expected, gun battles, it reads stand alone fine!, vaguely implied R76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7590118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralLoki/pseuds/GeneralLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While following a hint of Talon activity, Hanzo and McCree take up a mission in an abandoned church. Everything seems so ancient and untouched, it looks like their lead is a dead one until they find something buried in the graveyard nearby which turns up much more than just a Talon lead. Caught in a Talon trap, the two fight to escape and must face a portion of McCree's past he would rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poise and Poison

The ruined cathedral sputtered coughs of dust and age at each step he took—the pathetically ancient building creaking in tune with strained wood underfoot, the sound paired with a the familiar click of spurs. Casting eyes over the interior of the church McCree could guess no one had been here in quite awhile. Especially with this level of dust. He scuffed the heel of his boot against a rough plank of wood in the floor. It looked ready to splinter under much more pressure than that. 

McCree turned toward his partner on this mission who was busy inspecting behind and around battered pews for any signs of life. “I dunno how the Talon trail led here. It seems pretty untouched,” McCree commented, mostly to avoid a silent search that they were bound to take up.

Hanzo paused in his careful watch to straighten up at his spine, eyes on McCree. Despite their currently professional engagement, McCree couldn't help feeling a little bit of a flutter at the focused attention. He hadn't gotten over getting this tangled up with Hanzo. Just seeing him lifted heavy spirits. 

“It wasn't exactly easy to track down. If this is some kind of trap it is almost like they did not wish for us to spring it,” Hanzo answered with a measured calm that would put anyone at ease. That confidence let McCree's thoughts wander further to try and work out what it would be otherwise. 

“Unless there's somethin' goin' on aroun' the perimeter, then I dunno.” 

Hanzo's eyes turned downward, his gears turning. “We should check this area thoroughly. There might be some kind of clue about why they would set up base here.” 

At least McCree had braced himself for that. “This is still the middl'a'nowhere. Not a great place fer a base.” 

“But a decent place to hide something.” 

Already Hanzo took to hunting around diligently, picking between pews and making his way forward with cautious steps. McCree couldn't place if the safety in his pace came from wanting to be thorough or he was worried about falling through the floor too. He had enough of a filter not to jump immediately into that useless question. Chances were that if any one were going to break the floor with his weight, it would be McCree anyway. He sighed and pushed himself into work. This was an official Overwatch mission after all—no room for slacking. Nor did he want to be caught while on Hanzo's watch. Dating or no, he expected the best out of McCree while they were working. Not that he would slack anyway. 

Slow steps brought him deeper into the church, all the signs of this place feeling alive drained out long ago. Stain glass had long been stolen or shattered, leaving absences in the tall window at the rear of the building. The roof had a noticeable hole that allowed in a little of the morning fog and filtered light. He could almost taste the age of this place—the dust and rotting wood had a way of making themselves memorable to the nose. McCree had seen much younger and still abandoned buildings back home. Something about it always kept him on edge. The idea of something so broken being a matter of importance to people once felt strange. Time made itself feel very real in a place like this. 

With Overwatch reviving, this old church might as well spring out of its tomb too. 

“Come here,” Hanzo spoke, pushing McCree's thoughts out of the way. He hurried over to where Hanzo had started to push aside a fallen chunk of wooden support beam. McCree grabbed another portion of it and the two together got it out of the way of the wall in the back. Behind the beam and a little more broken bits of roof covered by an old tattered curtain was a door. The door looked ready to turn to ash at a single touch, but McCree still reached out. 

“You really think anything'll be beyond this kinda mess?” McCree said as he started to carefully pull the old wood loose of its frame. “I mean, that's a hell of a lotta trouble to go through to hide somethin' every time you'd be in an' outta here.” 

Hanzo continued to hold the curtain out of McCree's way. “At this point, I'm not sure. However, I have a feeling there might be something of value behind here.”

“We are not goin' on a treasure hunt on official time, darlin',” McCree answered back, concerned now. 

“But it could be something that Talon would want. We should see in case it is,” Hanzo said. He could make this sound rational, but there was a pretty good chance they were wasting time. “They could select anywhere to hide. Why here? It might be good for having low traffic, but any run down building out of the way would be. This is hardly a very fortified choice.” 

The trail definitely brought them out here, there was no mistaking that. But precisely where they'd find whatever Talon had stored away or a whole pit of Talon agents, there was no telling. McCree kind of hoped for a little innocent treasure with that in mind. “Alright, alright. Let's not take too long though.” 

It was slight, but Hanzo flashed McCree a small smile, one that was edged with a hint of satisfaction. He was hard to tell no sometimes—he seemed to be figuring that out. McCree sighed and pried the door the rest of the way open that he could. The door stayed on its hinges somehow. 

The movement stirred up a new cloud of dust, enough to get McCree to put his free hand over his nose for a minute. When it settled enough to breathe through he pressed onward, Hanzo close at his side. 

“Hope we don' get in a fight in here. Place'll fall on us if we get too rough,” McCree said idly as the pair moved down the hallway just barely wide enough for the two them to walk side by side. 

As they reached the door at the end Hanzo pulled ahead and grasped the doorknob. “I think that's unlikely. We would hear them either way.” 

“I don't care, I jus' don' want the roof to fall yer head.” 

As Hanzo pulled the door the knob broke right out in his hand and the door crashed to the floor in front of them, splintering partially. They glanced to each other slowly, surprise lasting a second before they both laughed. It worked like a spell, any nervousness cast away. 

“If there's another hall we gotta tiptoe through it,” McCree says with a chuckle before actually looking the new room over.

“No, it seems to be the end. Based on the size of the building it couldn't go much further anyway,” Hanzo replied easily. They traded gazes, more relaxed and at ease close by. It made him feel like kind of a fool, but staying at Hanzo's side made him comfortable and on top of that he could admire the cute little smile at the edge of his lips. That soft hint of affection in his eyes didn't hurt either. 

Hanzo patted him once reassuringly on the forearm before moving into the room—something like an office considering the desks and shelves of books lining the back wall. The dust here was thick in a clotted off-white over flat surfaces. Hanzo braved that mess first, moving toward the desk and examining what was left on top. He avoided brushing fingers anywhere, but did reach down to open up desk drawers. As he inspected, McCree moved to the bookshelves. Most of them were so faded they could hardly be read. Still curious enough, he settled two fingers onto the upper spine of one larger book, giving it a tug. At that pull the book came free but pages crumbled and spilled down to his boots—effectively covering him in what was once text. He coughed and took a step back, shaking his hand out of any remaining dust. 

“Darlin' I don' think any of this is gonna hold up,” he said after another cough. It took Hanzo a second to acknowledge—he had his nose nearly inside the long desk drawer he'd pulled out. When he stood up he held out one hand; in it he grasped a single coin that fit fairly in his palm but bigger still than American coinage. McCree stepped in to get a better look at it. 

“It's worn, but with some clean up perhaps it is worth something.” 

McCree squinted at it. “Is that a skull on there?”

Hanzo joined in staring closely at the coin, turning it over in his fingers. “It could be...but do not get my hopes up.”

“Pirate treasure 'er somethin' right?” McCree laughed. 

“Unlikely. But that would be quite interesting...Why would such a thing be in a church?” 

“Hey posin' as a priest's a good cover.” 

Hanzo stalled to give McCree a deeper look in his eyes, like he were searching for something. “You've done that, haven't you?” 

McCree pulled back and made way for the much safer doorway. “Thas' not somethin' I wanna go into.”

“That means yes, doesn't it? You realize you need to tell me this story now,” Hanzo insisted tailing after him. 

“I've done some less 'an glorious things fer jobs. Don' make me get too into it. It was a mess.” 

“Was it really so awful?” 

The question gave him pause. Saying nothing might have left Hanzo with the wrong impression—something he didn't want when it was this vague. It seemed like he had a way of shooting himself in the foot whenever it could be anticipated. Anticipated and rarely stopped. He let out a sigh. “I thought it'd be a pretty good cover fer lookin' harmless on a job I needed to blend in on.” 

“Did it work?”

“Sorta. Ended up standin' out too much anyway.” 

Hanzo struggled for a moment, his mouth obviously forced shut. The awkward silence didn't instill McCree with much hope for a good reaction. “I wouldn't pass would I?” 

Hanzo cracked and let himself laugh. “Not at all. But as things are I can hardly imagine you in any sort of disguise. You are too much... _this_.” He gestured at him from shoulder to hip.

“What's that even mean anyway? _This?_ ” McCree huffed back at him, feeling the red picking up in his face. The both came to a stop at the block hallway door, working together without any signal to move the curtain out of the way so they could pass through. Once back out in the church proper Hanzo answered the question.

“You are hard to imagine dressing any other way. You seem almost naked without your hat on.” 

In that exact second, McCree knew the exact jumble of words he needed. He couldn't help grinning as he tipped his hat up. “And I was gettin' the feelin' you kinda liked havin' me naked.” 

“I do. But I said almost and that is not sufficient. Nor would I recommend stripping down in here if that's an invitation.”

“Dust an' splinters huh?” 

“Precisely. 

Laughter filled the small space between them. For a mission, this felt kind of casual. Everything about it seemed real and yet, here they were in possible enemy territory having a guffaw about something probably best not brought up anywhere else. At least maybe not in public. He wasn't entirely sure if even the rest of their comrades in Overwatch were too aware of what went on between them. 

Now wasn't exactly the time to delve into that. This was still a mission. “We should...prob'ly check out the area aroun'.” 

Hanzo smiled easily and turned toward the large doors that would take them out back into the chill and fog. Some of it was beginning to part, but not nearly enough. “Very well. There seems to be a graveyard. We should check along the coast again for any ships as well.”

McCree sounded off on his approval and the pair made their way back into the mist. Outside the crumbling church gave them an unmatched view of the coast—even with fog in the way at the moment they could see the water churning below. McCree figured it was a beautiful place when it was clear, but here standing a few strides from a graveyard in this fog, it didn't feel too welcoming. But there was something “right” about this place as it was. Someone picked this place thinking of fog cover. 

Muscles remained tense and ready as he and Hanzo together walked into the thin and mossy dirt path to the cracked and crumbling gravestones. An unease coiled around the air. Something about walking over the dead maybe—that unmistakable discomfort treading over coffins. He pushed himself not to get caught up there and instead keep an eye out for anything strange.

Strange didn't even cover the half of it. Hanzo stopped in front of grave where the stone had crumbled in two. That in itself was not the strangest thing. No, it was the ground in front of it. Instead of having the same mossy and grass cover the rest of the graves had so far this one had freshly overturned dirt. A chill ran up McCree's spine. 

“If we're dealin' with a zombie scenario, we're outta here,” he commented right away. 

“That is ridiculous. Someone must have come here and buried something.” 

“With a corpse?”

Hanzo looked to the half of the stone that remained, ducking down to read it. “At this age it was probably only bones if that is any consolation to you.” 

“We gotta dig it up, huh?” 

“Grave robbing is not on your list already?”

McCree let out a big sigh. “It is after today looks like.” He kicked his heel into the fresh earth, some of it moving easily enough. They didn't exactly pack the tools to go digging. 

Hanzo stood back up and cast his gaze over the area. “Let me see if I can find something...Wait.” With that he took off down the path toward the wiry gates at the other end. He didn't really give McCree any time to disagree. He could just make him out through the fog so perhaps it was safe enough. 

He turned a glance down to the grave again. It didn't seem like it was dug too deep, but doing this by hand would be a waste of time. Just as his mind was starting to stretch for other ways to avoid this he heard Hanzo call his name. In record time he rushed to meet the archer. He held a shovel that had been abandoned at the gates, but something else stopped him. McCree joined him in front of the row he'd paused at soon catching what had his attention.

“Half of these are all dug up an' turned over too...The hell is this?” 

Hanzo shook his head. “We won't find out until we take a look for ourselves.” He held out the shovel and moved to strike it into the first grave before them. McCree let him dig for a few shovelfuls before he stepped in, nerved worked up. If he struck a bunch of bones, that's what it was going to have to be. 

“Lemme do it. You keep a watch out.” 

“Very well. Try to be careful. It could be dangerous materials.” 

McCree let out an unpleasant groan. “If I get blown to bits diggin' up a grave I'm gonna be pretty disappointed in myself.”

“I would be disappointed in the both of us. Just dig. Carefully, as you get deeper, is all,” Hanzo instructed, turning away to watch beyond the gates and behind McCree's back. He didn't miss Hanzo's fingers grazing nearer to his bow. They were quite possibly in enemy territory after all. Uncovering this quick and considering back up would be the best choice for the time being. That spurred McCree into picking up the pace. Within a few minutes his shovel struck something hard. He tensed.

When graced with no explosion, he used the shovel to scrape away more of the dirt in the way. “Looks like some kinda weapons case prob'ly. Could be wrong. Real dense though,” he reported. 

Hanzo turned from his watch for a second to take a look. “We should open it.” 

McCree gave him a look of exhaustion he wasn't feeling yet but knew he would be in the near future. “I got a bad feelin' about this thing...” 

“Carefully.” 

He let out a hard breath. “Carefully...gotcha.” It felt like he could smack right into a death trap at any second, but he knew Hanzo was right too. They couldn't call in the team over a box of skeletons. 

With some more digging he got enough dirt out of the way to clear the clasp and the lid on the box. A better look told him the container wasn't old at all. His fingers caught onto the mechanism for the lid and pushed it free. The lid opened slowly, held down by some dirt still in the hinge at the back, but it was open enough to see inside. Sure enough, within were high grade weapons—something that shouldn't have been easy to get a hold of. 

Hanzo looked back into the case as well, his expression muddled and hard to read. That pause and the clear deep thought over his face kept McCree quiet so he could keep thinking.

“These are powerful...why would they not be using them? Leaving them buried would be a waste.” 

McCree lifted one of the firearms within, checking it over for damage or use. “Not sure...Don' see anything wrong right away with 'em but...some of the others rooted out a Talon base not that long ago. Think they coulda dumped their goods here while scoutin' out a new spot?” 

“It's possible, but... if they are on the run they would likely need all of this to survive.”

“Unless they got overflow. Could be storin' it here before sellin' it off again,” McCree suggested. “Weird place to do it though. You'd think some warehouse 'er nowhere town'd do.” 

“Closer to a place to sell them at all would be sensible. If they are buried it's more difficult to retrieve later. And if all of these sullied graves are full of weapons...” Hanzo didn't finish. His expression signaled that he remained deep in thought. 

This set up and plan felt so bizarre it was almost unreal. No one would believe it without physical evidence. This was so out of the way Overwatch almost didn't signal to even check this place at all. Was that it? It seemed too simple. There had to be some other piece of this puzzle they were missing. 

Before he could voice a thought something cracked through the fog. He braced immediately for impact from the nearby sound, but there was no blast, no heat, no push back. Instead the device that hurtled at them spattered against the busted headstone and from the remains a coil of smoke mingled with the misty fog around them—a filthy rust color marring his vision. McCree was already shin deep in a grave, arms length away from the impact zone. His mind rushed. He breathed it in—there was no way he didn't already in half a second. Brain said to hold his breath, to last even another fraction of a second. His heart tore his lips apart. 

“Hanzo, get out!” 

The Peacemaker was drawn in a flash and although he could only barely see a few figures in the fog, their outlines blurry and growing cloudier by each snuffed breath, he fired that direction. 

Hands clawed into his free arm and shoulder, yanking him out of the shallow grave by force. He found himself stumbling out of it, but his legs giving out from under him, trigger finger still firing on instinct. Every shot echoed into the back of his spine, rumbling through what was left of sensation in his body that quickly drained out. 

He knew Hanzo was still pulling on him when he glanced away from his targets briefly. It was an expression he'd never seen on Hanzo's face—this edge of desperation as he tried to drag McCree with him. Eventually he too strained and neither could get very far—whatever was canned in that shot it was potent. 

McCree felt himself falling, mind slipping. If there were any strength left he'd have used it to shove Hanzo away he couldn't even tell if his fingers still grasped at his gun. He cursed absolutely everything. There was no way he could go out seeing Hanzo's face like that—anything but that. 

 

* * *

 

The first thing McCree knew when he started to come to was that the air reaching his lungs felt stale and dry. His throat tightened, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Once filmy vision cleared he realized he was seated on the floor, something against his back. He expected not to be able to move—dead men don't stir—but why surprised him. He wasn't a corpse—not yet. But he was definitely roped up, arms tied closely to his body. His immediate response was to start escape attempts—those weren't exactly new to him. What stopped him was the feeling of shoulders rolling against the back of his own. 

“Hell...yer serious,” blew past his lips in a sigh. 

“Kind of you to join me,” Hanzo answered, a hint of frustration in his voice. It was warranted. 

Whatever that gas was, it left them to wake up in some kind of dusty passage—it was probably underground considering the air—and tied to each other, back to back. 

“Always happy to be with you, darlin',” McCree replied pleasantly, trying to find his own sense of humor in this. It was funny somehow. Here they were, two elite Overwatch agents, tied down in some basement in only god knew where. Now that he gave it a closer look, the walls were stone and covered in cobweb and filth—the kind of grime that he could only associate with one kind of hell—a catacomb, fit for the kind of putrid matter the dead liked to sludge into.

He had no plans to die in a big corpse den. Escape tactics would work though. He had a handful of them. Technically, he had a left hand full. He struck up the thought and motion to draw a knife's edge to his fingertip on his prosthetic arm but nothing happen. It took another second for him to work out why.

“They took my damn arm.” 

Hanzo strained in the bounds to look aside and behind himself. “That seems unnecessary if they were going to tie you down anyway.” 

“It does a lil' more 'an look pretty,” McCree replied with a small laugh he forced. The question was how they hell they knew. Something about that thought made unease settle into his stomach. 

Hanzo's back pressed harder against his own as he started to try and wedge a hand free. “We'll get out...and get it and everything else back,” he said, tone firm and sure. From this angle it was hard to see, but McCree caught a glimpse of the fire in Hanzo's eyes. That was much closer to usual—he marked himself a lucky man. 

“Gotcha. I'm gonna try an' turn some, maybe let up some give fer you.” It was in the middle of that move that another whirl of fog rolled into the room. At first McCree held his breath, but when the fog rose and took on a more human shape, he gasped. 

They had heard stories. It wasn't like anyone at Overwatch could keep it under wraps—not safely anyway. As a group, this figure hung over their operations like a bad stain. McCree had hoped deeply, personally, never to have to face this himself. The man going by Reaper lurked just fingertips away from Overwatch's shadow—a phantom of a gone age with moves and desires no one could suss out. Not even old Morrison seemed to understand the depths of his old dear friend. If he couldn't do it, McCree didn't feel any better equipped. 

In a voice that took him back years and at the same time like a slap across the face, the man called Reaper spoke. “Really? Getting caught in a trap like that...You always were a hopeless brat.” That tone and sound rang with something so familiar and yet at the same time ground against McCree's better sensibilities. Reyes was something else now. Someone, questionable. McCree never wanted to see either way. Never like this. 

Reaper moved like a figure soaked in all the blood he spilled. Gestures held weight, a turn of his wrist pulling attention away from the cold bone of his mask. A sliver of McCree felt Reye's face behind all that—that usual scarred snarling face lecturing him into oblivion. Nothing much had changed, only he might actually kill him this time. Not right this second. He felt Hanzo still shifting behind him—he had some kind of out. He could buy time—even with as much as this was going to hurt. 

“Tossin' out some smoke to knock a guy aroun' isn't much of a tactic to be proud of.” 

“You should be the last one to comment on any pride. Every move you have is one of _mine_ , you brat. Don't get all cocky. Why do you think you're down here and not home free?” 

McCree shifted slightly at the shoulder, mostly to look like he was straining, partially to try and help Hanzo out behind him. He was going to start lying through his teeth. 

“Unlucky fer you, but I got plenty more moves of my own you ain't never seen.” 

Reaper's shoulders tensed but only because he let go a laugh he failed to hold back. “That's fine. I won't ever have to see it. This is your grave, brat.” 

McCree managed to shrug. Was the rope getting looser? “Kinda in bad taste to toss a body down somebody else's tomb.” 

“There should be enough of you and your Overwatch friends to turn the numbers in your favor. You don't have to stress over that one,” Reaper said with a little amusement in his tone. He enjoyed this—clearly. However the hell Reyes died and became this, it completely warped whatever was left of him. McCree couldn't recall to many times he'd even heard the man laugh at all. This specter only seemed whole when he had his claws into any old Overwatch crew. 

“They're not gonna throw themselves into your trap over corpse clean up. You know that,” McCree answered cautiously. 

“I'm well aware. That's why I don't have corpses. Not yet anyway. You're still sending a live signal back to HQ. They're going to have to rescue you. It's the only presentable thing. Jack's all bitter, but he's still a boy scout,” Reaper explained almost casually. 

“If you think Morrison is gonna show up—“

“I don't. But I kill enough of his comrades? Then he has to face me. And I get to tear apart all of you either way. I'm not losing.” 

That edge of confidence and anticipation stirred into Reyes' voice now made the pit of McCree's stomach sink deeper. The man orchestrated his own drama—unwilling to accept any other ending to this little number. This plan probably had months sunk into it. This nowhere, disarming job. Weapons tossed aside for bait. With all the powers he had now maybe he didn't think he needed them. At least nothing that run-of-the-mill. An essentially unstoppable assassin could spend his earnings on anything and only expect to get more—especially with Reyes' skills on top of everything else. 

“I can't say I know what happened with you, but you really don't have to play this.” He knew full well that would be worthless to say at this point. Reyes wasn't going to listen to reason. Reason was on another plane that Reyes wouldn't even acknowledge. He was stubborn to the end. McCree never considered himself someone too valuable to the old man, but maybe a second would be enough to put some remorse in him.

Instead of anything good coming of this, McCree could almost see the smirk beyond the face of the mask. Reaper leaned in close to McCree's nose, billows of smoke coursing from the sides of his mask as he spoke. “Real cute, you little shit. I always knew you would bail before it got serious, you know that? You're not in a position to play innocent with me.” 

McCree felt his heart climbing up his throat. Reaper hardly looked tangible, but up this close there was no denying how very real he was. Almost as if to impress that in on him, Reaper's hand swayed over McCree's head before grasping down. He dug the hat further down onto McCree's skull , twisting a little in a motion that could have been almost endearing in any other situation in any other universe. Hanzo had frozen with Reaper this close, but at that move he didn't even seem to be breathing anymore. Focusing on anything seemed hard with this asshole up in McCree's face. 

“Nice try. Predictable though.” Reaper pulled away and reached back into his cloak. What he held in hand left McCree more tense and far more aware of his increasingly more dire position. Reaper gestured out with McCree's arm, the metallic appendage hanging limply in his grasp. “Do you know what else is predictable? This. I knew you'd have a lighter and a knife or two. I gave you that tip once, didn't I?” 

It was fairly standard, especially in Blackwatch. Hide a weapon wherever you could on your person. There was no telling when you'd need it over your usual. As long as it didn't weigh you down and a little addition to the prosthetic was no issue. Before he even needed it, he'd already seen others in Blackwatch just as prepared. Of course Reyes would know. He above anyone else would know. 

A tired feeling clawed its way around McCree's head, gripping tight. However the hell they got out of this he was going to have to face Hanzo with this conversation lodged between them. So much for not dragging up the past. In the worst way possible too. 

And yet it felt odd to be worried more about how Hanzo was taking this than worrying over his life. He had almost zero trust in Reyes, but he held resolutely onto the belief he wasn't going to die. He couldn't—he still had Hanzo at his back. Things would work out one way or another. Steeled with that thought, the rest he could sort out later. 

A grin made its way across his face. “It ain't like you were a good teacher, but you had yer moments.” 

“I couldn't have been if you turned out like this—playing cowboy,” Reaper said, his tone hard to read. He wasn't insulted, was he? Something about that hiss in his voice left McCree unsure. 

Hanzo's fingers pressed hard at McCree's back. They hadn't agreed on any signals, but he took that as one. They needed to get Reaper's eyes off them—he must have found a way to break free. The last thing they needed was to set off any twitchy trigger fingers. 

“Coulda' faced me right an' seen what playin' cowboy can do fer a man. Suits him better than actin' like some big bad.” 

Reaper chucked McCree's arm against the wall carelessly. The metal clattered, but it'd survive. It was made to survive a lot more hell than that. The sound rang unpleasantly in the stagnant little room still. 

“As much as I'd like to watch you squirm against the inevitable, you're not my top target. You're extra, brat,” Reaper snapped, that unpleasantness that always hung in his voice turned sharper, nastier. He probably did take some offense. 

He looked ready to go on when the patterned footfalls of boots gathered down the corridor to this section of the mausoleum. He pulled back a few paces toward the low arch of entry, meeting with a group of agents clearly part of Talon. He must have pulled them into this plan somehow. Overwatch did have a lot of enemies. Taking a few of them out would be worth something to someone. 

Just barely McCree could make out the sound of gun fire. This place had to be deep, very deep for it to sound like that. While Reaper was dealing with the agents, Hanzo jerked aside, some of the rope giving away. They managed to hold it tight so it would at least by the same by sight where it was exposed more Reaper's direction. They could fray the rest and get out at any second. They just needed to move together. 

One of the agents down the hall spoke quickly, a breathless east coast accent drawn more obvious through the stress of the moment. Talon was good, no doubt, but if there was an Overwatch rescue crew on their way down it might explain it. “...Positive ID on the soldier...other seniors agents too,” the agent said in glimpses that McCree could catch. They weren't going to have long if that was the case.

Hanzo and McCree both braced to muscle their way out, but Reaper didn't even look over his shoulder. 

“If you can't hold them for even thirty seconds...” The conversation hushed and McCree caught a knot of tension in Reaper's shoulders from behind. A positive ID? Were they really on the look out for Morrison? That was his only guess for information Reyes would want to hear. He hated reports. 

That and it seemed like whatever defenses this place had, they weren't going to last. He still doubted that Morrison would make the personal effort for the two of them. Unless he had a feeling Reyes was involved somehow. Was that more obvious now? The whole thing felt like it already went way over McCree's head and his threshold for this kind of mess. 

A second of hesitation locked Reaper's body in place. McCree only caught it because it seemed strange, especially out of what used to be that man. He'd seen a spectrum of motions float through Reyes, but not that one. In the end, he didn't cast a glance back, he just tore off down the hallway with Talon agents joining him. 

McCree's heart quietly crept back into his chest. Hanzo let out a long breath.

“Move with me,” Hanzo said with a certain firmness that didn't let McCree continue to wander. “Are you alright?” he continued as pressed back against him. 

“Fine, fine. We standin' up?” McCree answered, ready to move with him. With an affirmative hum, the two then pushed up to a stand together and with a little more room now they tore through the ropes Hanzo had been fraying through the entire conversation. Between his fingers he held a fine, thin blade, usually hidden away on his person. With the rope bested, Hanzo tucked the blade safely back into its hiding place at his belt. 

McCree hurried off to his arm still left against the wall, holding it up with the one good one he had on him and turning it over. He dusted it off as best he could and moved to reattach it to himself. It would take another few seconds for everything to reconnect properly.

“You doin' okay? Nothin' hurt?” he asked Hanzo's way while he waited. 

“Nothing except my pride. This should not have happened in the first place. My apologies.” 

The fingers of the prosthetic twitched—almost ready. He glanced over his shoulder toward his partner, his eyes on the doorway—a complicated look on his face. 

“Not yer fault alone. The both of us screwed up. We jus' gotta get outta here an' set it right before anybody else gets hurt. It'll be fine,” McCree said reassuringly. Somewhere, he found a smile. “Gimme another minute. We'll find wherever he chucked our stuff.” 

Hanzo kept watch closely, but McCree could see the burrow of his brow lessen slightly. Some of the tension built up in his body loosened at the same time. They had each other's backs; this they could handle. 

“There are a few more openings back here. They look recently disturbed,” Hanzo suggested to begin.

Right on cue, he clasped his fist and did a quick test of the grip. With everything fairly in order he hurried to Hanzo's side and peeked out the archway to look for himself. “Kinda looks like he tossed us in the dirtiest part of this hell hole.” 

“If you have to put hostages somewhere, it may as well be the worst place,” Hanzo said, somewhat serious but a smile teased his lips. 

The two made their way to the tunneled out portion opposite of the direction they had seen Reaper and the other agents run off in. The narrow stone hall looked dusty and a little wet like everywhere else, but tucked in some ruined rock there rested a stash of locked cases. McCree crouched down in front of them, studying the steel lock for a moment. “Might as well bust this too.” 

“Bust it how—“ Hanzo mostly finished asking, but on that note McCree punched his freshly reattached fist into the lock. It dented and the inner locking snapped under the pressure. For once something went right—enough to crack a small laugh out of him as his fingers latched on and pushed the case open. Another good sign shined down on them as all their confiscated goods waited for them inside. 

McCree snapped up his gun, cigar case next. Of course Reyes would take that, the bastard wouldn't even let him have one small good then in the end. If he even intended to really end it that way. For some reason McCree couldn't convince himself. If he wanted them dead, he could have done it at any point. Instead he took off on the slight chance he might get to fry a bigger fish. McCree doubted he measured up so small on the scale. He was Overwatch now—even if he weren't exactly before. And Hanzo too surely measured up to something. Unless of course Reyes had his eyes fixed on Morrison now that he had a lead on him. 

Catching a drifter was much harder than pulling on Overwatch's strings until they unraveled down to the man once at the top of it. Everyone else would get tangled up in the mess one way or another. 

Hanzo reached forward and took his bow and quiver from the case—carefully setting everything back into place on his body. He plucked one arrow from the back and let it rest on his bow. As McCree rose to stand at his side, they exchanged looks. 

“Are you really fine?” Hanzo asked, that light in his eyes so concerned McCree felt his heart snapping to little pieces. 

“Really I am. I'm always fine,” McCree said as confidently as he might.

Hanzo's expression strained slightly, eyes narrowed. “You seem distracted. Whatever that man said to you...I would not make you discuss, but if he is on your mind, I would listen once we're out,” he offered, an unmistakable kindness in his tone. 

That was precisely what he was trying to keep out of his mind. The last thing he needed to do right then was question his skills over some shit talking. Not like that was unusual for Reyes though. That it was so normal, but just a pinch nastier, more harsh, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He really did want to take him down a peg or two. 

“I was buyin' you time. I knew you had a trick up yer sleeve. Later though. Gettin' the hell outta this first,” McCree said with a mustering of will. A short exhale helped gather himself. All the air felt wrong on his breath, but that wasn't changing until they hit the surface again. Hopefully that was all it was. 

Hanzo put his hand on McCree's shoulder—not to try and pull him from a grave this time, but to hold firm. The hold kept McCree's attention fixed on him—he had to know he what he was doing. 

“I will have your back, the same as any other mission,” Hanzo offered, his voice a steady tide in the crashing mess that McCree's thoughts had devolved into. He took another breath. This time, things cleared a little more. 

“I got you too. Let's move out, darlin',” he replied, drawing Peacemaker from his belt and hold it at the ready. No doubt something else would come between them and the exit, but a handful of Talon agents they had under control. They always did. 

Prepared and set, the two started off down the long corridor toward the way Reaper and the agents ran off in. Surely that would take them to the surface. With some luck, there didn't seem to be any extra hallways—just the one narrow curving hall lit by the occasional orangey glow of a lamp. There was some kind of generator running down here—McCree could guess by the sparse wiring and hum against the stone. Not all of that noise could be the fire fights up ahead. 

They flew at a jog—familiar footfalls keeping McCree's heartbeat steady with them. Even in this hellpit something could feel “right” somehow. They slowed slightly down the path as they passed disarmed mines—likely meant to go off on intruders. Steps turned more cautious as they rounded a bend marked by a hall dotted with more stone archways one could enter. Passing by, most looked to be for the done and dead, but there looked to be more weaponry stored away between spaces too. Overwatch was going to have a hell of a time rooting all this out when this finished.

Noise up ahead stalled them both and McCree felt an arrow fly over his shoulder, the fluff of air nearby an alarm to put him on edge as it flew into its mark—a Talon agent coming from around the next corner up. More soldiers rushed in behind their fallen comrade, rifles ready this time. But not ready enough. McCree snapped his revolver up at the right height and fired shots one after another, downing one agent after another in quick succession. Hanzo kept back and loosed a few more arrows to help cover any missed shots in that round of fire, but soon enough McCree had a second to reload and no other sounds felt so close. 

“We do that fine, but we got kidnapped. Can't believe this,” McCree muttered, half-joking.

“I am sure we'll get an ear full when we are back,” Hanzo laughed slightly. Everything about the way he looked and sounded during a laugh melted McCree right into a puddle on the floor. A playfully pat on the back made him whole again and he pressed onward. 

“I'll get us outta that one too,” he decided. 

“Is that so? I will be counting on you then,” Hanzo clearly teased. They both knew there was no way out of avoiding all of the team members likely to get onto them. And if the agents before were right it was going to be Morrison and few options got that bad. 

“No promises 'though. Sounds like 76 is out there,” he said as they moved forward carefully.

“Are you certain?” 

“I got a pretty good feelin'.” 

Silence settled. The edge of having old Overwatch knowledge wedged between them. There wouldn't be any explaining this without a long sit down. More than anything McCree wanted a shower and a drink. Digging into Overwatch history did nobody any good and would take all night. 

But if Hanzo joined Overwatch now, he had a right to know all the nasty little inner workings. Especially if he became a target for it too. A long sit down and explanation it would be. 

Before he could make himself clear the tunnels opened up into a larger room, this one home to traps disarmed—a mess of wire and explosives that caught his breath in his throat. The whole place would probably cave in with even half of this going off. Did Reaper have this set as a back up? Lose the fight, but drag the rest down to hell anyway—a spiteful little scene. However he authored it, would that feel right? Was that what he really wanted?

Thoughts of Reyes drowned out in a spattering of gunfire. With luck, nothing explosive was hit by enemies flowing from the opposite end of the room. Hanzo fired fast in return—arrows making homes in fresh targets one after another. Bodies dropped and McCree took shots on the figures that would soon follow—a scuffle of corpses and wounded lining the way out now. It never got normal. 

Another rushed hallway brought them up to the sight of stairs, McCree tempted to rush up into the sight of light above, but better judgement prevailed. The pair approached carefully, gunfire clear overhead and still obviously heated. McCree peeked up a few steps to the ground level. It looked like this opening into the ground level had been dug out behind a grave, or maybe the large stone usually covered it. Either way, careful positioning later, he could see the fight going on.

Reaper and a handful of surviving agents locked in combat with a few Overwatch members, noticeably Morrison was among them along with Ana—a nasty combo on the battlefield and for incoming lectures. Promises were not going to happen after all. 

They were holding their own just fine though, especially with Ana covering all the other agents from a distance. It was when Reaper turned attention on Ana that Talon agents fired on her. She retreated to the cover she could get behind another large gravestone—the stone splintering from the wave of fire. At that moment Morrison and Reyes locked into closer combat, scattershots from Reyes chasing Morrison back from engaging or really stopping him with a good shot.

McCree hadn't realized it, but Hanzo made his way up to join him, pressed close against the stone and aiming around it's edge on the side opposite he watched from. For a second he saw the way Hanzo locked onto a target—that sharp look in his eyes, hands and shoulders braced for the pull of string and release of arrow. In a fluid, perfect motion, Hanzo loosed an arrow and it impacted square between Reaper's shoulders at his back. The man growled in pain and that break gave Morrison a chance to get a shot in, fire spattering into his chest as well. 

Reaper burned a deep blood red for a moment before his body dispersed into a cloud of thick black smoke. What remained of him flew into Morrison aggressively, but smoke did nothing to the old soldier. The cloud took a sharp turn and headed down off the cliffs toward the water. Overwatch agents ran after the trail, but none took fire. It did them no good, especially as the rest of them dealt with what remained of Talon. McCree didn't hesitate to pitch in at least. 

Within a few minutes Talon was down and out, leaving Overwatch as a whole fairly alright. Hanzo stuck close at McCree's side as fate brought Morrison and Ana over. He'd be happy to fight Talon all day before dealing with these two. 

Morrison stepped forward to say something, but Ana cut him off before he could even begin. “How are the two of you? Not injured, I hope,” she said in a tone that was stern, but concerned. Disarming in a way. 

“We're alright. Nothin' to worry about. But...thanks fer the rescue an' all,” McCree answered with a little caution. 

“It should not have happened in the first place; however, we are still grateful,” Hanzo added.

Hanzo's reply got Morrison's shoulders to sag, weapon lowered the rest of the way. Maybe the old man would go easy on them in the end. Something about him looked off. Then again, tangling with Reyes again threw McCree off too. Through the mask it was hard to tell, but he was sure Morrison was scowling. 

“How did he catch you anyway?” Morrison's question was loaded. There was a silent “I thought you were trained better than that” after it, but one he didn't have the heart to voice. He'd have to admit Reyes' training was worth anything in the same breath. It didn't look to be worth it, considering what Reyes was now. 

“Used the fog to his advantage an' knocked us out with some gas. Barely could see 'em with how thick it was,” McCree said, keeping his voice steady as possible. Any weakness would get chewed up right then. 

“Be wary of the weather next time. It is acceptable to pull back or request help you know,” Ana replied, an “obviously” stabbed right into her words. 

It was the accusatory question and answer series—McCree's head on the dish that evening. He held off a groan at the thought. 

“I know, I know. But it didn't feel so serious. An' everythin' seemed so dead, it looked fine.” 

“ _You_ were almost dead. You know he'll kill you next time,” Morrison butted in. 

“I'm aware. But you gotta know he's got special attention for you, old man. Don' you get lax either.” 

The old man's fingers clenched tighter on his gun for a moment, the free hand a tight fist hung loosely at his side. McCree could only imagine how much he looked his age now under that mask. He didn't take it off generally on missions and outside of those, he made himself a ghost. He was a leader no more, that was for sure. 

“That's my problem to deal with. Don't you worry about it,” he answered after a pause, his voice dipping lower, a touch unsteady. 

“It's a little my problem if he's gonna run aroun' shootin' at all of us, but I ain't gonna tell you what to do,” McCree replied, gaze carefully kept off him. Too much more and he was sure Morrison would escalate. 

What he didn't expect to hear was Hanzo stepping forward to make a suggestion before that escalation could spark. “If he is targeting Overwatch agents it would not hurt to make him a priority and see to stopping him. That man has enough of a reputation as it is.” 

Ana cast a long glance at Morrison before giving Hanzo a tired smile. “That sounds like the sort of plan we should make at our base. Comfortably. Over tea. We have transport ready down the hill. Let's head back and we can argue later.” 

“Clean up'll be in soon. You two are off the hook,” Morrison agreed, but not too quickly. Something about his posture signaled he wasn't done taking this out on someone. McCree had made himself target number one—but that would be his luck. 

Lamenting in place did him nothing and yet it called to him. At least until Hanzo's hand grasped his shoulder once more—a small comfort in a sea of deeply unnerving thoughts. That guidance did enough to get him flying back to base. 

 

* * *

 

The trip back to HQ was mostly quiet and admittedly a little awkward. Morrison had a grade A brooding performance which in all honesty, Jesse kind of expected. Even he didn't know all the details of what went on between him and Reyes, but he could remember days when they were completely different. Different in ways that made that meeting in the catacomb all the more concerning. Whatever Reyes was now, it weighed down on Morrison physically, mentally. 

Jesse thought about Reaper's hand against his head, not unlike old times, but without any hint of a joke anymore. He thought about shared cigars, barked orders, lost comrades, straight days of training nonstop, and a night he'd caught the old men in a moment they thought they were alone. All of that colored that exchanged hours before. Was it regret or something else that pierced his thoughts? He couldn't find the words to articulate it. 

Once they made it back, they bought some time in avoiding that argument over tea. A minute to clean up and contextualize everything that happened seemed like the best move for everyone. They could work it out in the morning once everyone slept on it. This left Jesse standing in the shower for awhile trying to think it out. It didn't help much but at least helped clear that putrid dust feeling out of his lungs. Hanzo seemed to have done the same as they met in the hall—either still a little warm and drippy. A silent exchange brought them to one of the otherwise empty bunk rooms, Hanzo taking a seat at a worn card table. He rested back in his chair, expression clear and calm. Without fail, it brought Jesse down a notch and he settled into a chair across from him with a bit more ease. 

“I understand this 'argument' is likely going to involve spilling some information about the past...At this point I don't want to be uninvolved for my own reasons...but this does put you on the spot,” Hanzo began, voice steady. His gaze focused on the table—easing some of the tension in the space that built up quickly around unspoken questions. 

“I can't kick you out. You got every right to be here. Yer too much help to us. Jus'...it ain't gonna make me look too good. But I guess yer opinion can't get any lower after everything today anyway.” 

Hanzo shook his head. “I think no less of you. I should be clear on that much. I am concerned however.”

“Nothin' to be concerned about. I'm alright. Jus' hate airin' my business. I'd like leavin' it behind, but kinda hard to do now,” Jesse said, letting himself slump into the chair. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but he could put it up with it. Just like everything else. 

He and Hanzo had been together for a while now though. At this point, he could afford to let more of himself spill over him. He got the feeling he meant what he said. With a deep breath, he went on. 

“Those two know a lot more about all the details so I'm gonna leave it to them...but that jerk callin' himself Reaper used to be a regular flesh an' blood guy. An' also the guy who ended up recruitin' an' teachin' me,” Jesse said stiffly at first. “Can't say I'd still be aroun' without that old ass.” 

Hanzo studied his face for a moment, his own a wash of surprise. “For some reason I had assumed you were one of those closer to Morrison.” 

Jesse shook his head. “By proxy mostly. He an' the old man used to get along pretty well, but that fell apart. I left Blackwatch before things went to hell. I couldn't stand havin' to pick a side in some internal squabble. I was tryin' to turn my life aroun', not wreck someone else's.” 

A look of understanding lit up over Hanzo's expression. He leaned in closer over the table, his elbows on the surface, his hands a rest for his chin. That attentive look was just soft enough to ease Jesse's immediate worries. 

“There is no shame in that. Do you regret the decision?” 

McCree hesitated a few seconds. “I dunno sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if things coulda' turned out different, but that's wishful thinkin'.” 

“Perhaps whatever that is really is between those two men to sort out. That is no fault of your's.” 

Some days it didn't feel like there were enough limbs on his body to carry out all the things he wanted to do to make up for Overwatch screwing itself over like that. Whatever force guided that and let it be, if it was Morrison and Reyes or whoever else got their fingers in it, they let a pretty good thing fall apart. There were things Overwatch could do that McCree could never tackle on his own—he was still a single mortal man. He couldn't make up for Overwatch, no. It wasn't his cross to bear either. 

“Thanks darlin'. That's too big fer me to be takin' ownership of. Fer now, I got myself in order...an' you got my back. We'll make do with that,” he decided, a smile finding its way to his lips for the first time the whole evening.

Hanzo smiled in return and the world seemed to glow around him. “So I do. I know that you will be at my side when I need you as well.” 

Jesse got that melting feeling all over again and let out a soft sigh.“Yer too good to me, just too good,” he said somewhere between turning into a puddle and ascending. “As long as you want me, whatever you gotta face, I'm gonna be right there. You got my word.” 

A hint of strain played Hanzo's lips in a way Jesse didn't have words for. He didn't seem hurt and yet something pulled at him. “Thank you. You give me hope I might bear all this someday. I have not earned your company, but I am pleased to keep it.” 

Every word clumped into a turn in a maze Jesse couldn't fully see. He didn't let himself. Whatever Hanzo had to “bear” he would share it when he was ready. If he could say that much then he was getting more comfortable. Jesse could wait. 

“No earnin' needed, I wanna be here with you. I feel like I can do jus' about anythin' with you here,” Jesse answered affectionately. “Helps yer cute t'boot,” he added, grinning now. 

“Hardly. You are the one between us who is,” Hanzo insisted, just a touch flustered. 

Jesse leaned back in his chair, hand to his heart as if he'd been struck with an arrow. “I can't argue when yer so cute about it! I won't fight ya'!” 

Hanzo stepped up from his chair to Jesse's and without an extra word, leaned in close and pressed his lips to Jesse's firmly. Now that he was there it felt like it'd been a lifetime since the last they'd touched like this. That trip to the crypt was only a few hours, but it might as well have been ages. Jesse couldn't bear the thought of turning away another touch. He had no idea how he could survive parting in the morning for arguing over tea. His arms sought a place to hold at Hanzo's sides—anything for that slight inch closer to an embrace. 

Air called for them to part before too long, but Hanzo lingered close, leaned over him but one arm had found its way to Jesse's shoulder. Lips still only a breath away, Jesse found words he couldn't earlier that day.

“That entire whole time in that pit I knew it was gonna be okay. I feel like I shoulda' been afraid but you were right there. Whatever it came to, I knew we'd get out alright,” he admitted in a breathy whisper. 

Hanzo looked floored—words he didn't expect then or perhaps ever. He pressed a shorter kiss to Jesse's lips before finding anything to say for himself. “You really trust me so...”

“Of course. You say yer gonna have my back. Somethin' about the way you say it an' that you always do it makes it easy. I'd follow you right into hell, Hanzo. I got yer back jus' the same. I mean it.” 

 

An array of feelings peppered Hanzo's expression before he pressed in closer, hugging Jesse as he could over him like this. Gently, Jesse put his arms around him as well and held in silence. Something about the lack of any words for a moment told him to keep it that way. Hanzo would answer when he was ready. 

“You are still a fool, Jesse McCree...but a kind soul. Thank you,” he murmured eventually, slightly muffled against his shoulder. 

“No thanks needed. It's alright.” He felt a pause and a pang in his chest. When was the last time he opened up like this? “To be honest, I been on my own a real long time...I'm happy jus' feelin' this an' bein' able to mean it,” he said quietly, resting his cheek just barely against Hanzo's head. 

“It...has been some time for me as well. But know I mean everything.”

“I wouldn't doubt you fer a second.” 

A comfortable silence filled the room after those words, the two still held close. In the rush of everything happening, he'd almost missed how lucky he was to have Hanzo not only working with him, but holding him closely after. It sent a melodious feeling coursing through his thoughts and body, one that left him an ache on nights alone and let him sing the second Hanzo stepped back into his life. 

“I wanna kiss you all night,” Jesse muttered, the words spilling free from lips possessed with the realization of how lucky he was all over again. 

“I might do more than kiss you, I will warn you now,” Hanzo said almost seriously, like it were almost a threat. 

“Please do more than kiss me,” Jesse said, melting. 

They had time before anyone would ask any questions.


End file.
